


Ruby

by Ihateeveryone2002



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Based on a Twenty One Pilots Song, Blood and Injury, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-06 15:44:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17347976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihateeveryone2002/pseuds/Ihateeveryone2002
Summary: "You're an angel fallen down, won't you tell us of the clouds?"*In which Dan is a prince protected from the hardships of war while Phil is a soldier who would do anything to never have to relive his nightmares again.





	1. Rose Coloured Glasses

The queen had ordered Dan's room to be painted a shade of pink, but over time, he began to see it as more of a red. Maybe, in a weird way, the pink was meant to be a metaphor for rose coloured glasses, to symbolise that everything was perfect when in reality, it most certainly was not. Once Dan came to realise that, the shade seemed to change, though his innocence to the harsh reality of the world he lived in remained in tact. 

He'd heard stories about what it was like on the battlefield from word of mouth, but not once did he ever stop to think about how much worse it would undoubtedly be up close. He was one of the lucky few allowed to stay away from the front line, but ever since he was old enough to understand, he'd wondered if he'd ever have the guts to go there himself, if only to prove he wasn't just a pretty prince only there for decoration. He'd never brought this up with his parents of course, that was out of the question; they'd never let their little boy die in action, though they'd let thousands of other men do the exact same thing without hesitation. 

The war started when he was ten. He was nineteen now, an age where he fully understood what was going on, but also an age of which he wished he could do more. 

He'd heard that some soldiers from the front line were coming back that morning to have their injuries tended to in the castle,  and though his parents never encouraged it, he went to see them every time. With every wave of soldiers he saw come through the doors, the deeper red his walls seemed to become. 

*

He waited by the main gates with the guards, who seemed to tolerate his presence, but he'd always had the impression that they didn't like him for whatever reason. They never spoke to him voluntarily, only giving the obligatory salute, and even then, Dan could see the irony hidden behind it.

It was an innapropriately beautiful day, the blue sky cloudless, flowers scattered around the grass like fallen stars and a light breeze flowing through the nearby trees like a dancer around a ballroom. It was so quiet the sound of marching was unmissable, despite it being so far in the distance. From where he stood, Dan could see a group of soldiers, far larger than last time, only a month ago, some limping along, most being carried on horse drawn carriages. As they came closer, it became evident how little medical attention they had been given beforehand, for many were still covered in blood, the only thing keeping them from death being a thin layer of bandage. It shocked him the first time he saw this, but over the years, he must have got used to it. Sure, it broke his heart seeing this over and over, but it was inevitable that so much hurt would come from war. 

"Still want to join them?" The guard next to him sniffed as the first men trickled in. Dan sighed; he was either called selfish for not doing anything, or stupid for wanting to do something. He couldn't win. He didn't say anything as he watched the men walk in, none of them talking, either.

The blood was like shattered ruby, seeming to reflect light off every surface it occupied, like it was a good thing, like the loss of life was noble and admirable, but Dan couldn't see it himself. 

He watched them go to the castle hospital, where beds had been prepared days before, but something told him some men would have no bed tonight. 

*

Dan sat at the dinner table, picking at the meal someone had laboured over, but he'd lost his appetite. His parents were talking at him about some ball where he was to meet his future wife, but he couldn't find it in him to tell them he didn't want a wife. It's not like they would disown him or anything; he doubted they'd care at all. No, it was more that he had more important things on his mind, like the hundreds of soldiers who had arrived that morning who would never get to attend a ball. 

"Daniel, are you listening?" His mother said from the other side of the table, her cold eyes boring into his, her posture straighter than he had any hope of being.

"You were talking about a ball?" He sighed, "and a wife?" She sniffed, seemingly unsatisfied by this answer but decided not to pursue it any further; when Dan was in a mood like this, he rarely said anything more than what was expected of him. 

"May I be excused?" He asked finally, unable to bear the uneasy silence that had fallen over the room far too large for a family of three. She simply nodded, barely looking away from her plate as he left the table and walked out of the room, thanking a lingering servant for dinner before making a point of closing the door as loudly as possible. 

How could they talk of parties and marriage when there were hundreds of wounded men back from war? How could they act so oblivious to the hurt around them?

Dan's walls may have turned red, but to his parents, they were still the pale shade of pink they had always been. 

*

His feet led him down the barren corridors towards the hospital wing. He didn't know what he planned to do; maybe talk to a few soldiers and ask what it was like, how they ended up there. 

He paused outside the door, almost too ornate for what it held behind it, but he pushed it open, nonetheless, revealing rows of hospital beds, every single one occupied. 

There was a little chatter, but other than that, it was eerily quiet. The men who were talking did so only to the person in the next bed, the rest stayed silent, either reading old books or staring into space. There were a variety of injuries: broken bones, bruised faces, there were some who seemed to have had their eye gauged out. Dan had never set foot in the ward before, only ever able to bring himself to see them return. 

A few men turned to look at him enter the room, only to look away again in disinterest. 

"Oh look," a man's loud voice bounced off the stone walls, disgust lacing his words, "it's the prince who can't be bothered to go out and fight for his own country." Though he'd heard this time and time again, it hurt; he said he wanted to, but when it came down to it, would he ever be able to? The echo lingered in the cold air, a constant reminder of his disservice. 

"Well?" He said again, "are you going to defend yourself? Or are you too good for that?" Dan's breath turned red; he was tired of everyone thinking he was ignorant. He knew what happened out there. Maybe not to as much of an extent as these men, but he understood. 

But he didn't say anything, letting the man's words stab into him like the blades that had caused those scars on his face. 

"Look at us!" He shouted, "we went out there to fight, and what did you do? Sit in your palace being waited on fucking hand and foot!" There were a few mumbles of agreement. This is what they thought of him. He was just a prince. Only there for decoration, like the rubies embedded in his parent's crowns. 

"Leave him alone." A tired voice interrupted, it's owner a man with bandages wrapped around his torso and more scars on his face. The first man didn't say anything, but he huffed, laying himself back down, though it was clear he had to intention of sleeping. 

Dan looked over to the new man, who was still staring at him curiously, though his eyes were empty, like the light in them had been lost a long time ago. Dan walked over to stand at the end of his bed. He wasn't sure how to start a conversation at the best of times, let alone in these circumstances, but the man started it for him. 

"Why are you here?" 

"I don't know," he sighed sadly, "I guess I wanted to see what it's really like instead of only seeing a snippet, you know?" 

He cringed at his answer; he was scared of coming across as entitled or ignorant, but the man just gave a weak smile.

"I know your intentions are good, but you might have been better off not coming. Especially not today." Dan nodded; maybe it was best for him not to give in to his curiosity so quickly.

"But I guess you can talk to me, while you're here." Dan saw nothing wrong with this proposition, in fact it would probably do him good to talk to someone around his own age. As a prince, he'd always been home schooled, separated from all the other children nearby, and he'd ended up becoming quite isolated and lonely. Though the man in front of him looked like he had gone to hell and back, it seemed that they both needed a friend. 

"Sounds good," Dan said, setting himself down on the bed as gently as he could without hurting the man, "my name's Daniel, but I prefer Dan." 

"I'm Philip, but I prefer Phil." Phil smiled a little brighter than before, even if it was only a little, holding his hand out for Dan to shake. 

Dan could feel people staring at the back of his head, but he couldn't bring himself to care. They might think he was worthless- and on some occasions Dan would agree- but at least he made an effort, tried to understand what these men had gone through. It was certainly more than his parents had ever done. 

"May I ask what happened to you?" Dan asked tentatively, hands fiddling in his lap. Phil stared up at him, eyes shiny like he was about to cry, but no tears fell. 

"I got shot in the stomach amongst other things," he said quietly, pointing at the angry red stripes littering his face, "I played dead until they went away. I'm just lucky someone found me." He stared straight ahead, the unfallen tears gone, instead replaced by an empty look. 

"I'm sorry." Dan didn't know what else to say; he'd never talked properly with someone like Phil before. He didn't know how to handle it. There was no way to be optimistic for there was nothing remotely good about the situation. There was no way to empathize, for he hadn't experienced even a fraction of what they had. He was almost angry at himself for how little he could do. 

"I'm sure you are." Phil didn't smile this time, though Dan knew the ones he had seen were far from genuine. 

Dan saw a letter on the bedside table, the handwriting too small for him to decode but even if he could, he wouldn't read it; it was too personal. The table itself was made from cheap oak wood and the bedframe of hard iron. Dan was sure his parents had enough money to provide better facilities for these men, but he doubted they would care enough. 

There was nothing else Dan could say, for everything that needed to had been said already, and maybe he felt bad for imposing on a group of men who undoubtedly hated him. Apart from Phil, as far as he could tell, anyway. 

"I'm going to go now," Dan said finally, standing up shakily, "but if it's okay, can I come back tomorrow?" Phil looked away from whatever he had been staring at a moment before to look at him, ever so slightly not meeting his eyes.

"I'd like that." 

And just like that, amidst all the heartache and pain surrounding him, Dan thought he may have found a friend.


	2. Won't You Tell Us Of the Clouds?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan struggles with his feelings, but maybe his new friends can help?

The paint on his wall was peeling at the edges, though the underlying tone of red was still strong in his eyes. It disturbed him how recently the colour had begun to change from its original pink. He almost hated himself for not seeing it sooner. 

People like Phil had been fighting all his life while he stayed out of harm's way, content with the luxurious lifestyle he had been given. People like Phil had laid down their lives and many had lost them while he did nothing. It wasn't right, wasn't fair. 

Phil was trapped in the hospital wing along with all the other injured men, unsure as to whether they'd be forced to go back to the battlefield or not. 

If there was nothing more he could do, he could be there for Phil. As far as he knew, Phil might not have anyone else. He skipped breakfast like he did most mornings, but instead of hiding himself away in the library, he turned towards the hospital wing. 

*

The silence that had filled the room yesterday wasn't as bad this morning, though the atmosphere seemed every bit as sombre. With eyes watching his every movement, he walked to Phil, the only man seemingly unaware of their royal company. 

He looked up, startled, as Dan sat down on his bed, the same place he had sat the day before. He had noticeable bags under his eyes, like he hadn't slept in days, the singular slice of toast on his bedside table remaining untouched. 

Dan tried to smile, but have you ever tried to smile while your heart is breaking? 

"I didn't think you'd come back," Phil said, his eyes drifting back up at the blank wall opposite him, "I thought you'd only come in that first day and piss off back to your palace." Dan stared blankly; he'd expect these words from anyone else in this room, anyone else back at the palace, but from Phil? He didn't know why he was so sure Phil was different. Maybe because he had stopped the others from ridiculing him the day before? It was naïve of him to expect kindness from someone he'd known for under twenty four hours. 

"I'm sorry," Phil sighed, "when you left yesterday, they started talking about you. It must have got into my head. Probably doesn't help that I couldn't sleep last night." Dan glanced around the room at the men, who were no longer staring at him, but he could feel their anger. 

"What were they saying?" 

"It doesn't matter." His voice was tired, broken, like he was on the brink of death. 

"How are your injuries?"

"They say I'm healing up nicely, but my stomach hurts like a bitch." 

Dan couldn't imagine what it would be like to be shot, what it would be like to be amongst all that hurt.

"What's it like out there?" The question slipped out of his mouth, foregoing his usual filter so as to satisfy his selfish curiosity. Phil didn't look angry, just tired. 

"I admire your willingness to learn, but I just want to forget everything." He glanced at the letter on his table, tears shining in his eyes, but he blinked them away. Dan couldn't argue with this; he was in no position to demand anything, besides, he knew when a matter was better left untouched. 

Dan was no expert when it came to people, but he knew how bad it could be to be caught up in your own thoughts. Sometimes it's easier to think about something else, even if the distraction is only temporary. 

"What did you do before you went to fight?" The ghost of a smile played at Phil's lips, eyes brighter, if only a little. 

"I worked on my dad's farm. It was a difficult job, but I loved every second of it. I loved my family," he frowned slightly, "but then I was old enough to go to war. I had no choice in the matter as far as my dad was concerned. I vividly remember him telling me that if I didn't go and fight like my brother, I was no son of his."  How a father could say that to his own son, Dan didn't know. It was heartless. 

"I'm sorry." Phil laughed humourlessly.

"You have nothing to be sorry about." 

Dan didn't know what else to talk about; Phil had left nowhere for the conversation to go. He wanted to stay, but what was the point if it served no purpose? 

"What about you?" Phil said finally. The interest took him off guard; no one had ever asked specifically about him before. It was always "are you keeping up with your studies" or "don't forget about that party we're throwing to make us look better than we are". 

"My life isn't that interesting, if I'm being honest," he started. Phil scoffed quietly, but he chose to ignore, "I don't get on well with my parents. All they seem to care about is carrying on the royal bloodline. They don't seem to care at all about people like you who fight for us. I hate them for it." Phil nodded with a new understanding, but Dan doubted there was anything he could say to make it okay. Talking about this to another person was so much better than keeping it to himself, though. 

"Obviously, I can't directly relate to your situation, but I can in the sense that my dad wanted something that I didn't," Dan stared at him, confused, "my dad wanted me to go to war and I wasn't exactly jumping at the opportunity. Your parents want you to find a wife. Something tells me you're not too happy about that, either." 

Phil was far too clever for his own good.

"Well if I'm being honest, I'd rather find a husband." Phil stared for a moment before giving the most genuine smile he'd shown so far.

"Well that's one thing I can relate to."

*

Dan enjoyed his conversation with Phil a lot more than he let on. It was refreshing talking to someone his own age, someone who was so different to him, yet had vaguely similar experiences. He couldn't wait to talk with him again tomorrow. 

"Daniel!" A booming voice snapped him out of his daydream and upon looking up he immediately wanted to recoil back into his mind. His dad was striding towards him, face made of stone. 

"I have been looking for you all day. Where have you been?" 

If he told the truth, he would surely be ridiculed for caring about a matter than didn't concern him. The last thing he needed was an angry king yelling at him. 

"I took a walk around the gardens." The key to lying was to maintain eye contact and remain as convincing as possible. He'd done it more than once in his time. 

But his father didn't look convinced.

"Follow me, we must discuss the upcoming ball." He turned quickly, his ruby cape billowing behind him.

*

"I'm sorry, how many girls will be there?" Dan asked in disbelief. 

"About twenty," his mother replied, seeing absolutely no problem with this plan, "and out of them, you are sure to find one wife." The ball in question was to be held in two weeks, but he didn't think he'd be able to build the confidence to come out in that short time. 

He wanted to fight back, to say they were expecting too much of him, but he just smiled and took it. Nothing he said could change their minds. In the worst case scenario, he'd just have to pick one and tell her she'd have to deal with being in a loveless marriage. It was unfair, but it couldn't be helped. 

"If that is everything, I think it's time to go down for dinner." In that entire conversation, neither of his parents mentioned the soldiers they had taken in the day before. Was it a chore to them? Did the soldiers mean nothing? 

"Actually, I'm not hungry. I'm going to go straight to bed." They didn't tell him otherwise, simply letting him go. On the way back to his room, he considered seeing Phil again, but decided against it. They'd talked not two hours ago, it seemed a bit much. Besides, Phil would be eating his own dinner now; he wouldn't want to impose. 

* 

He switched his bedside lamp on, it's pinky glow filling the room too large for one person. A servant must have come up to tidy his room, because it took him a while to find his diary. It infuriated him somewhat knowing someone had touched his most prized possession, but it was locked. No one could have read it. 

He sat at his desk, the pens and pencils tidied away in rose gold containers. Diary unlocked and pen poised above the untouched paper, he thought for a moment. 

He hadn't felt the need to write in a while, but there were some things that he needed to sort out in his head. 

"I talked to a soldier called Phil today," he nibbled at the end on his own, contemplating what he was to write next before the words seemed to flood onto the page. 

"He's a very nice person. He doesn't treat me differently just because I happen to be a prince..." 

He must have written about Phil for three whole pages, about his appearance, which he hadn't thought about properly until now, his general mannerisms and everything Phil had told him today. It was oddly therapeutic to just put his thoughts down on paper; he didn't know why he didn't do this more often. 

He eventually ran out of things to write, locking his diary once more. It hadn't occurred to him how hungry he was but he had half a mind to just go to sleep and ignore it. His tummy rumbled furiously in response. Maybe a quick snack would help. 

*

The palace halls were empty; it was strange considering how accustomed he had become to seeing servants wandering the place. Most lived in the village, only a handful living in the castle. 

He opened the door leading to the kitchen, but the lights were still on. The room was empty apart from one woman sat at a small table underneath the window. She was reading a book, the cover of which he couldn't make out from where he stood. She had a mess of blonde hair piled utop her head in a bun, wearing the same plain off white dress all the kitchen maids wore. It was an impractical colour,but what could Dan do?

She raised her head from her book, eyes darting towards the door, which had closed with a relatively loud bang.

"Your highness!" She scrambled, book dropping to the floor as she gave a clumsy curtsey. He didn't know how much more of this he could take; he was treated differently because of his status far too often. 

"Please sit down. I just came to get some food." But she didn't sit down, instead hurrying towards the cupboards, muttering words like "has to be perfect".

"I'd only like bread and butter, if possible?" He stepped towards her, noticing he was a good few centimeters taller, despite being at least three years younger. She exhaled in relief, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. 

"Thank god, I was scared you were expecting a slap up meal, there," she smiled, cutting a thick slice of bread and spreading a generous amount of butter on it, "there you go." 

The plate was set in front of him on the counter, but he decided to take the seat opposite where she had sat moments before; there was no point going back to his room only to bring the plate back later. She stared at him, shocked, before assuming her original position, picking her book up off the floor and flicking back to where she had got to.

"Sorry for making you lose your page." He said sheepishly, taking a bite of his very small dinner. To be honest, he'd rather have this than any fancy meal set in front of him. 

"It's really no bother," she said quickly but genuinely, smiling across the table at him before reading again, "if anything, I should be apologising for freaking out just now."

"No, I get it," Dan sighed, "I'm the prince, I should be treated with the highest respect." She looked up, surprised.

"Something tells me you don't want that to be the case?" Dan had never been any good at hiding his feelings.

"No. I'm sick of being treated like a child, like I have no worth." The reflection of the light against the window seemed to flash red. It felt good to say this all aloud, even if writing had helped him earlier. 

"I understand," she reached over to pat his hand sympathetically, "I can't relate to your circumstances, and I doubt there's very much I can say to help, but if you ever want to come for a chat, I'm here every evening." 

He felt weird and it took him a moment to recognise this feeling as gratitude; no one had ever explicitly offered their friendship to him before. It was nice. 

"I'd love to," before he turned to leave, his plate now empty, he had one more thing to ask, "what's your name?" 

She laughed quietly, "my name's Louise." 

Upon leaving the kitchen, it occurred to him that he had made two friends in the space of two days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took an accidental hiatus from writing and I'm genuinely so sorry! I love writing but it sometimes takes a while to feel in the mood to do it. I'm pleased with how this chapter turned out, so I hope you do, too! Thank you so much for reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this first chapter! Please tell me if I'm laying it on too thick with the Ruby references XD I just want to make this story more about symbolism.


End file.
